Fighter
by coalhaus
Summary: Evan Rosier/Florence twoshot... He was a Slytherin and she was a Ravenclaw. He was a Death Eater and she was a mudblood. He went down fighting and she kept on living. They weren't destined to be happy. They both understood that. Read my new story "Interception"... these characters will be making a minor reappearance.
1. Chapter 1

He has always been a fighter – a stubborn, mule-headed fighter – and Florence finds it suitable that he went down fighting.

The Daily Prophet reports say that he took out a chunk of Alistair Moody's face with a slashing hex. Florence believes it – she's seen him duel.

She's duelled with him.

He's always had a sadistic, perverse sort of humour. But then again, so has she.

Florence remembers hearing his name for the first time during the Sorting in their first year. She remembers his gleaming black hair – wavy and thick – and his glittering, wicked eyes, scanning the Great Hall with mild curiosity. He had three older brothers, she remembers, and he was not intimidated by the Hat on the stool, nor the roving eyes of hundreds of students and teachers alike.

She remembers watching him stride up to the hat – long, confident steps because he was taught from birth how to be noble, though not necessarily just.

She remembers how the hat took forever to decide where he would go, and remembers the frantic buzz from the Slytherin table because no true Slytherin ever takes more than five seconds to be sorted.

He was a true Slytherin, through and through. Ambitious to a fault, cold, calculating – all the clichéd traits that a Slytherin should have. He exploited himself, didn't mind using his mind or his body to get where and what he wanted. And there were plenty who wanted him for the latter.

Florence remembers talking to him for the first time – during the winter holidays in third year, after hours, in the restricted section of the library. He remained at school with his brothers because there was some sort of illness going around his family. She remained at school by herself because her family made her ill. They were in the restricted section for two different reasons; he, because he was studying up on the Dark Arts, and she because she was seeking a thrill.

He would have cursed her brains out, had she not defended herself in time. Surprises were not Evan Rosier's favourite things in the world. Especially surprises in the form of sneaky little Ravenclaws with too much gall.

Florence remembers their duels like they happened yesterday. He hated her because she was a mudblood, and a smart one at that, and she hated him because he was disgustingly clever, powerful, attractive and rich. She knows for a fact that a lot of Hogwarts girls hated him because of all that, and because he liked to "love 'em and leave 'em" as her dorm -mates would say.

He was quasi related to Sirius Black, which made sense because both were jerks and both were handsome and both were charismatic beyond belief.

Florence wonders why she had to go and fall for the worse of the two evils.

She remembers the first time they kissed – behind the greenhouses. After curfew. It was fifth year and they were going to duel because the OWLs were coming up, she was getting sick of his attitude, and he was getting sick of the fact that she was not getting any uglier as he'd hoped.

It was not a soft, gentle first kiss. It was rough and painfully wonderful, and she remembers hating herself for wanting him so badly. She remembers the way he backed her up against the greenhouse, the way his hands danced around under her blouse and the way those very same hands hexed Bertha Jorkins into an oblivion.

Florence remembers going to breakfast the next morning, and the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. By Dumbledore. She remembers the shame, the anger, the want… She remembers him ignoring her after that, and the unfamiliar feeling of emptiness. And the hurt – the sharp stab of pain when she saw him procreating with Lucille Devalle, another Slytherin, against a tapestry on the second floor. She remembers the way his eyes followed her as she passed them – emotionless.

She remembers crying in Myrtle's bathroom like a loser, even though she should have known better. Slytherins do not date Ravenclaws. Especially mudblood Ravenclaws. For some reason, these thoughts comfort her, and she is able to move on.

For the last Hogsmeade trip of the year, Joel McDowell from her own house asks her out. Joel is a seventh-year, handsome in that classic sort of way, and kind as well so Florence agrees. She remembers it being all over school that she has "hooked up" with Joel – formerly ugly little Florence Kim, going out with Joel McDowell.

She remembers being sickly satisfied by Evan's glare when she and Joel passed him in front of Three Broomsticks. But then she can never think of _that _memory without remembering the Quidditch match that followed, and the duel that followed _that_. She can still remember the blood flowing from Joel's face, and Evan's hard sneer despite his arm being broken in three places.

Florence remembers breaking up with Joel on the train back to London. She told him that the distance would be too much, that it was better if they weren't together. She remembers him kissing her softly on the cheek and nodding, even though she could see he did not agree. She remembers feeling relieved as she watched him disappear into the crowd to find his family. She also remembers Evan's piercing stare as she stalked past _his _family in search of her own.

Sixth year, Florence will always remember as one of fear. She remembers it well because you-know-who was really starting to wreak havoc all over, and because that was the year she discovered drugs and the euphoria that came with watching herself bleed. She remembers only being happy when she was miserable and/or in pain.

Florence vaguely remembers running into Evan for the first time in a long time, after drinking Firewhisky and smoking weed from a friend's pipe during a victory-match celebration. It was the night of the first Quidditch match of the year, and Ravenclaw had won outstandingly against Hufflepuff, whose star chaser had a cold. Florence doesn't remember much of the details, except that she wandered out because the Ravenclaw tower was getting stuffy, and then her memory skips ahead to an empty classroom, trapped between Evan's arms and a wall.

She remembers him growling insults at her, snarling incoherently about being unable to sleep and other such things. She remembers being disgustingly pleased with herself, because Evan rarely displayed emotion. She remembers laughing at him – at his condition – and she remembers him crushing his lips against hers and torturing her with his hands and his smell and his everything until she was begging for more.

And then she remembers him stopping, laughing, and leaving her alone in the room to sort herself out.

She never really manages to.

The next time they meet alone, it is during a Hogsmeade trip. It is Florence's first time and Evans' umpteenth. They are both slightly inebriated, which makes the experience all the more worse – and pleasant.

Evan is a man of few words, and wastes no time in idle chit-chat. He is quick with his hands and his mouth. Florence is slow and cumbersome. It drives him beyond the point of insanity because, Merlin knows why, he enjoys it.

They do it in an abandoned classroom used for storage, filled with several beds, empty trunks and bedside tables. They go through each one of the beds. The first two times are fast and hard because Evan needs to vent years' worth of frustrations. The third time, he decides to play a few games, all at Florence's expense. She doesn't remember ever feeling anything more painful and amazing than being petrified as Evan ran his hands over her, but without ever touching her. She remembers smirking at his displeasure when she does the same to him.

He got his revenge on the last bed.

Florence remembers going back to her dorm, shaking with exhaustion, euphoria and disgust. They meet again, every Friday night in the same classroom. During the summer, they meet in muggle London and have their fun. Somewhere along the line, they both make the mistake of falling in love.

It's too bad that he was a Death Eater and she was a stupid Ravenclaw.


	2. Chapter 2

What Florence wants to know is how in the hell did time go by so fast. She is no longer twenty years old, wondering what to do with her life, wondering if she is going to come out of the War alive. She is a thirty-one year old woman, a healer in the paediatrics department at St. Mungo's, and a mother.

Sometimes Florence wonders what would have happened if Evan was still alive. But she knows that the truth is less than desirable. Purebloods – his sort of purebloods – their marriages are chosen carefully. Bloodlines, wealth, status, power and even looks have to be considered from every family member's perspective. She knows that they never would have married, and she knows that it never would have worked out. In fact, he probably would have told her to have Skylar removed, and that would be the end of that. Purebloods like Evan did not have bastard children with mudbloods like Florence.

Florence remembers their last night together better than she remembers this morning. It was one of the few times when neither of them was intoxicated in any way. No drugs, no alcohol, not even adrenaline fuelled by a battle or the prospects of one. Florence remembers sitting in her room, trying to study for her final exams when he apparated before her. She remembers him glancing at her books and scoffing at her typical "do-gooder Ravenclawness."

Florence remembers demanding of him what he wanted, and hearing his harsh laughter ring in her ears. She remembers him asking her if he needed a reason to drop in, and she remembers tartly replying, "Yes. You're a Slytherin – you always need a reason."

The bitter irony of it all, Florence tells herself now, is that he really _didn't _have a reason. For once, he wanted to just be with her – really with her. She wonders if he knew it would be their last night. She wonders if maybe he purposely didn't use a contraceptive charm.

Eleven years have gone by and there hasn't been a peep from the Dark Side since you-know-who's downfall. Florence is glad – Skylar will be going to Hogwarts in a week, and she would prefer it if her daughter didn't fall in love with a Death Eater.

But Skylar is a tomboy anyway. Florence thinks that Evan would be secretly proud of her, despite her ancestry. Skylar is so much like Evan in ways that it's scary. Florence knows that Skylar would have made an excellent Death Eater, had she been raised in such a way. Luckily, however, she was not, and she is merely a shrewd, sly little girl who likes to have her way. Florence wonders if Hogwarts is ready for such a girl. She hopes with all her might that Skylar doesn't end up in Slytherin.

Florence is relieved when Skylar writes her, informing her that she has been sorted into Ravenclaw, and that she has actually seen THE Harry Potter.

Florence glances at the only photograph of Evan she has, and asks him if he is glad.

Evan looks up at her and smirks.


End file.
